The Forever Home by Sue Watson
Chapter Eleven
The dark side of my marriage was something I’d vowed never to reveal to anyone. To admit I’d stayed after the first time made me feel weak and stupid, and I knew I should have gone, but later it became far more complex than Mark losing his temper and being violent towards me. I became trapped; I couldn’t have left; and we both knew why.
Ryan looked alarmed. ‘Did it ever happen again?’
I nodded.
‘So why didn’t you leave?’
I shrugged. I couldn’t tell him the truth, that there was so much guilt, so many lies and secrets wrapped up in our marriage, it was hard to disentangle myself.
I thought back to that first time; the idea that my husband, the father of my unborn baby, could hurt me was too much to take. But he was beyond remorseful: he cried for days, said he hadn’t meant to push me, that he just wanted me to stop arguing. He said I fell because I was pregnant and unsteady on my feet. I thought perhaps he was right. He bought me flowers, promised it would never happen again, that he overreacted because he thought I didn’t love him any more. It sounds crazy, but I ended up comforting him, after all, if he thought I didn’t love him, then perhaps it was my fault for not showing it, and that’s why he’d flirted with that girl? He said he’d only done it to get my attention, because he was scared of losing me. He said if I’d loved him enough, none of it would have happened. I was pregnant, tired and vulnerable, and as mad as it sounds, what my handsome, usually loving husband was telling me made a weird kind of sense.
A few months, maybe a year later, we were driving home from a dinner party, and I suggested that one of the husbands seemed jealous because Mark had talked to his wife all night. I also pointed out they were sitting very close, looking into each other’s eyes and it was embarrassing. Again, the silence on the way home, and when we were back home, I started again.
‘Is this about your weight, Carly?’ he asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. But I knew he was building to something. I remember the fear creeping into me, as raw and fresh as yesterday, and I told him if he hit me, I’d leave him and take the children. I stood in the hallway, waiting for the blow, but instead, he circled me, and used words to hurt me. They left no visible wounds, but the scars were deep.
‘Do you really blame me for spending the evening talking to Claire?’ he’d spat. ‘She‘s gorgeous – and when I have sex with you, I have to imagine women like Claire to get through it.’
He didn’t hit me that night, he didn’t need to because what he went on to say was more painful than any blow. And So, the next time he danced too close to someone, or was late home, or had spent money we didn’t have, I said nothing. I didn’t even comment at the click of the receiver when I answered the phone, or smelt another woman’s perfume on his skin, because it wasn’t worth the pain. And over time, I learned to “manage” him, keep the peace, and protect myself.
‘I’m finding it hard to understand what you saw in Mark,’ Ryan said, again dragging me back from my thoughts.
‘I didn’t always understand it myself, but now I’m out of the relationship I see things more clearly. It wasn’t just about the times he hurt me, there was this constant threat hanging over my head that he might leave me for someone else. And that fear of losing him became the real force, it took over from love, but it happened so seamlessly, I didn’t realise.’
‘God, imagine if his fans knew about any of this?’ he said. ‘He’d never work again.’
‘Yeah, and that was his biggest fear. The last thing he wanted was some police involvement or, worse still, press involvement – his career always came first.’
‘You should have called the police on him.’
‘I couldn’t,’ I sighed, ‘apart from anything else, he said he’d make sure he got custody of the children, and I’d never see them again. He’d get the best lawyers, his agent would see to that.’
What I didn’t tell Ryan was that all Mark had to do was tell the police what I’d done and I’d end up in prison, and he’d end up with custody.
Ryan was now holding both my hands in his. I hadn’t even noticed. ‘Did the kids know what he did to you?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘God no, but there were times it came close. It didn’t happen often, might have just been a couple of times a year when he just lost control, but when he did it was scary. I remember one night he’d come home drunk, the kids were in bed, I was in the kitchen, and as he walked in, his phone pinged. I couldn’t help it, I said, “Is that the woman you’re sleeping with this week?” The moment I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. I’d just boiled the kettle to make some coffee, and I stood there, with my back to him, waiting. The silence was the worst part. I froze. I could feel him moving behind me, not knowing if he was going to hurt me or not. Eventually, he reached round my waist with both arms, and for a moment I thought he was embracing me, and I began to relax slightly, but as he kissed my neck, he reached for my hand… and pressed my palm firmly down on the hot metal of the kettle.’
Ryan opened his mouth, ‘but you said the kettle had just boiled?’
I nodded, and he rubbed his cheeks with both hands, letting mine go, and I instinctively cradled the hand that had been burnt. The scars may have healed, but the pain will always be always there.
As I spoke, the memory of the burn seared through me. ‘I was squirming in agony, but trying not to make a noise because I didn’t want to wake the children. I held out for as long as I could, just whimpering quietly. Then, while still holding my hand on the hot metal, he flicked the switch on for the kettle to boil. I started to make a noise then, but he just kept pressing my hand down and, through gritted teeth, was telling me why he needed other women. “You’re a lazy, dried-up shell, you do nothing for me, Carly,” he was saying. By now, I was in so much pain, I almost fainted, and I remember hearing the kids coming down the stairs. He leaped back, and released my hand. I think it shocked him into realising what he was doing, and the minute they walked in, both sleepy in their pyjamas, he became fun Dad – just like that.’
‘Did the kids see anything?’ Ryan asked, horrified.
I shook my head. I remembered the tight-mouthed vileness transforming into a big smile. Straight into TV mode, like the cameras were on him: ‘Silly Mummy burned herself on the kettle,’ he’d said.
‘The kids were completely unaware,’ I continued. ‘I stopped crying, and pretended I was ‘silly mummy,’ too, while he took them back to bed, making them giggle with his funny stories. I ran my hand under cold water and tended to my burn which was pretty bad, but Mark wouldn’t entertain taking me to hospital and explaining what had happened. ‘We don’t want it all over the papers,’ he’d said, and walked into town to the all-night pharmacy, returning with aloe cream. It really shook him up, he cried for days.’ I paused. ‘I remember him telling me something then that he’d never told me before. He said his father had a drink problem, and at night he’d heard his parents arguing, and looking back thought his father may have hurt his mother. He said he could sometimes feel the tension in the air, and his mother’s fear, and he never wanted me or his kids to feel that. After the kettle incident, I realised things were escalating, so made a video, giving an account of what happened, showing the burn on my hand, and listing the other times he’d become violent. I also quoted some of the vile things he’d said, when he’d been drunk and out of control. And then I sent it to him. That was more than ten years ago, and he never touched me again.’
‘Was that because he was horrified, at what he did?’
‘Yes, it must have been a hard watch,’ I said, with a shrug.
‘Did the two of you ever talk about it?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I told him I had kept a copy, and if he ever touched me again, it would be released online, and then I’d call the police.’
I’d also sent a copy to Lara, asking her not to watch it, just file it away, and if anything ever happened to me she must send it to the police.
‘You were scared for your life?’
‘Yeah, but it’s only now that I can see how bad it was, and though it only happened a few times, it changed me.’
Ryan looked shocked; the fantasy of Mark Anderson had just been ripped apart and that’s what the video diary would have done if ever it had been posted online. But he held my secret, and it gave him the power to do so much damage, that I had to find something to equal that. So, knowing about the video, he managed to control his anger, and stop hurting me, and we got through the last ten years of our marriage without any violence. We respected each other, and sometimes, even liked each other, but now I realise, it wasn’t a marriage, it was stalemate.